work was absorbing; the need of verification seemed very small. He let the suggestion pass.

At seven o'clock he dressed carefully. His mind was full of Lakeley and of the possibilities the night might hold; for more than once before the weight of the St. George's Gazette with Lakeley at its back had turned the political scales. To be marked by him as a coming man was at any time a favorable portent; to be singled out by him at the present juncture was momentous. A thrill of expectancy, almost of excitement, passed through him as he surveyed his appearance preparatory to leaving the house, and then passed down-stairs.

Once in the hall, he moved straight to the door; but almost as his hand touched it he halted, attracted by a movement on the landing at the head of the stairs. Turning, he saw Eve.

She was standing quite still, looking down upon him as she had looked once before. As their eyes met, she changed her position hastily.

"You are going out?" she asked. And it struck Loder quickly that there was a suggestion, a shadow, of disappointment in the tone of her voice. Moved by the impression, he responded with unusual promptness.

"Yes," he said. "I'm dining out-dining with Lakeley."

She watched him intently while he spoke; then, as the meaning of his words reached her, her whole face brightened.

"With Mr. Lakeley?" she said. "Oh, I'm glad-very glad. It is quite quite another step." She smiled with a warm, impulsive touch of sympathy.

Loder, looking up at her, felt his senses stir. At sound of her words his secret craving for success quickened to stronger life. The man whose sole incentive lies within may go forward coldly and successfully; but the man who grasps a double inspiration, who, even unconsciously, is impelled by another force, has a stronger impetus for attack, a surer, more vital hewing power. Still watching her, he answered instinctively.

"Yes," he said, slowly, "a long step." With a smile of farewell he turned, opened the door, and passed into the road.

The thrill of that one moment was still warm as he reached Cadogan Gardens and mounted the steps of No. 33. So vitally warm that he paused an instant before pressing the

electric bell. Then at last dominated by anticipation, he turned and raised his hand.

The action was abrupt, and it was only as his fingers pressed the bell that a certain unexpectedness, a certain want of suitability in the aspect of the house, struck him. The door was white, the handle and knocker were of massive silver. The first seemed a disappointing index of Lakeley's private taste, the second a ridiculous temptation to needy humanity. He looked again at the number of the house, but it stared back at him convincingly. Then the door opened.

So keen was his sense of unfitness that, still trying to fuse his impression of Lakeley with the idea of silver door-fittings, he stepped into the hall without the usual preliminary question. Then suddenly realizing the necessity, he turned to the servant; but the man forestalled him:

"Will you come to the white room, sir? And may I take your coat?"

The smooth certainty of the man's manner surprised him. It held another savor of disappointment-seeming as little in keeping with the keen, businesslike Lakeley as did a silver knocker or a white room. Still struggling with his impression, he allowed himself to be relieved of his hat and coat, and in silence ushered up the shallow staircase.

As the last step was reached it came to him again to mention his host's name; but simultaneously with the suggestion the servant stepped forward with a quick, silent movement and threw open a door.

"Mr. Chilcote!" he announced, in a subdued, discreet voice.

Loder's first impression was of a room that seemed unusually luxurious, soft, and shadowed. Then all impression of inanimate things left him suddenly.

For the fraction of a second he stood in the doorway, while the room seemed emptied of everything except one figure, that rose slowly from a couch before the fire at sound of Chilcote's name; then, with a calmness that to himself seemed incredible, he moved forward into the room.

He might, of course, have beaten a retreat and obviated many things; but life is full of might-have-beens; and retreat never presents itself agreeably to a strong man. His impulse was to face the difficulty and he acted on the impulse.

Lillian had risen slowly; and as he neared her she held out her hand.

stowed away under the luggage-van; and after quite a lot of trouble he pulled him out. When it was all done Ko Ko was quite unhurt and livelier than ever, but the Englishman had his finger almost bitten through. Ko Ko was a dear, but his teeth and his temper were both very sharp!" She laughed once more in soft amusement.

Loder was silent for a second, then he too laughed-Chilcote's short, sarcastic laugh. "And you tied up the wound, I suppose?" She glanced up, half displeased. "We were both staying at the little inn," she said, as though no further explanation could be needed. Then again her manner changed. She moved imperceptibly nearer and touched his right hand. His left, which was farther away from her, was well in the shadow of the cushions.

"Jack," she said, caressingly, "it isn't to tell you this stupid old story that I've brought you here; it's really to tell you a sort of sequel." She stroked his hand gently once or twice. "As I say, I met this man and we— we had an affair. You understand? Then we quarrelled-quarrelled quite badly-and I came away. I've remembered him rather longer than I remember most people-he was one of those dogged individuals who stick in one's mind. And since, he has stayed there for another reason-" Again she looked up. "He has stayed because you helped to keep him there. You know how I have sometimes put my hands over your mouth and told you that your eyes reminded me of some one else? Well, that some one else was my Englishman. But you mustn't be jealous; he was a horrid, obstinate person, and you-well, you know what I think-" She pressed his hand. "But to come to the end of the story, I never saw this man since that long-ago time until— until the night of Blanche's party!" She spoke slowly, to give full effect to her words; then she waited for his surprise.

The result was not what she expected. He said nothing; but with an abrupt movement he drew his hand from between hers.

"Aren't you surprised?" she asked at last, with a delicate note of reproof.

"Because, my

She lay back luxuriously. dear boy," she said, softly, "it's more than that-it's a mystery! It's one of those fascinating mysteries that come once in a lifetime." "You must

Loder made no movement. explain," he said, very quietly. Lillian smiled. "That's just what I want to do. When I was in my tent on the night of Blanche's party, a man came to be gazed for. He came just like anybody else, and laid his hands upon the table. He had strong, thin hands like—well, rather like yours. But he wore two rings on the third finger of his left hand-a heavy signet ring and a plain gold one."

Loder moved his hand imperceptibly till the cushion covered it: Lillian's words caused him no surprise, scarcely even any trepidation. He felt now that he had expected them, even waited for them all along.

66

"I asked him to take off his rings," she went on, and just for a second he hesitated -I could feel him hesitate; then he seemed to make up his mind, for he drew them off. He drew them off, Jack, and guess what I saw! Do guess!"

For the first time Loder involuntarily drew back into his corner of the couch. "I never guess," he said, brusquely.

"Then I'll tell you. His hands were the hands of my Englishman! The rings covered the scar made by Ko Ko's teeth. I knew it instantly-the second my eyes rested on it. It was the same scar that I had bound up dozens of times, that I had seen healed before I left Santasalare."

"And you? What did you do?" Loder felt it singularly difficult and unpleasant to speak.

"Ah, that's the point. That's where I was stupid and made my mistake. I should have spoken to him on the moment, but I didn't. You know how one sometimes hesitates. Afterwards it was too late.”

But you saw him afterwards-in the rooms?" Loder spoke unwillingly.

"No, I didn't-that's the other point. I didn't see him in the rooms, and I haven't seen him since. Directly he was gone, I left the tent-I pretended to be hungry and bored; but though I went through every room, he was nowhere to be found. Once-" she hesitated and laughed again-" once I thought I had found him, but it was only you-you, as you stood in that doorway with

your mouth and chin hidden by Leonard Kaine's head. Wasn't it a quaint mistake?" There was an uncertain pause. Then Loder, feeling the need of speech, broke the silence suddenly. "Where do I come in?" he asked, abruptly. "What am I wanted for?" "To help to throw light on the mystery! I've seen Blanche's list of people, and there wasn't a man I couldn't place-no outsider ever squeezes through Blanche's door. I have questioned Bobby Blessington, but he can't remember who came to the tent last. And Bobby was supposed to have kept count!" She spoke in deep scorn; then the scorn faded and she smiled again. "Well, now that I've explained, Jack, what do you suggest?"

Then for the first time Loder knew what his presence in the room really meant; and at best the knowledge was disconcerting. It is not every day that a man is called upon to unearth himself.

Suggest?" he repeated, blankly.

"Yes. I'd rather have your idea of the affair than anybody else's. You are so dear and sarcastic and keen that you can't help getting straight at the middle of a fact."

When Lillian wanted anything she could be very sweet. She suddenly dropped her half-petulant tone; she suddenly ceased to be a spoilt child. With a perfectly graceful movement she drew quite close to Loder and slid gently to her knees.

This is an attitude that few women can safely assume; it requires all the attributes of youth, suppleness, and a certain buoyant ease. But Lillian never acted without justification, and as she leant towards Loder, her face lifted, her slight figure and pale hair softened by the firelight, she made a picture that it would have been difficult to criticise.

But the person who should have appreciated it stared steadily beyond it to the fire. His mind was absorbed by one question-the question of how he might reasonably leave the house before discovery became assured.

Lillian, attentively watchful of him, saw the uneasy look, and her own face fell. Then an inspiration came to her-a remembrance of many interviews with Chilcote smoothed and facilitated by the timely use of tobacco.

"Jack," she said, softly, "before you say another word I insist on your lighting a cigarette." She leant forward, resting against his knee.

At her words Loder's eyes left the fire. His attention was suddenly needed for a new

and more imminent difficulty. "Thanks!" he said, quickly. "I-I have no wish to smoke."

It isn't a matter of what you wish, but of what I say." She smiled. She knew that Chilcote with a cigarette between his lips was infinitely more tractable than Chilcote sitting idle, and she had no intention of ignoring the knowledge.

"Before

But Loder caught at her words. you ordered me to smoke," he said, "you told me to give you some advice. Your first command must have prior claim." He grasped unhesitatingly at the less risky theme.

She looked up at him. "You're always nicer when you smoke," she persisted, caressingly. “Light a cigarette—and give me one.” Loder's mouth became set. "No," he said, "we'll stick to this advice business. It interests me."

"Yes-afterwards." "No, now. You want to find out why this Englishman from Italy was at your sister's party, and why he disappeared?"

There are times when a malignant obstinacy seems to affect certain people. The only answer Lillian made was to pass her hand over Loder's waistcoat, and, feeling his cigarette-case, to draw it from the pocket.

He affected not to see it. "Do you think he recognized you in that tent?" he insisted, desperately.

Lillian held out the case. "Here are your cigarettes. You know we're always more social when we smoke."

In the short interval while she looked up into his face several ideas passed through Loder's mind. He thought of standing up suddenly and so regaining his advantage; he wondered quickly whether one hand could possibly suffice for the taking out and lighting of two cigarettes. Then all need for speculation was pushed suddenly aside.

Lillian, looking into his face, saw his fresh look of disturbance, and from long experience again changed her tactics. Laying the cigarette-case on the couch, she put one hand on his shoulder, the other on his left arm. Hundreds of times this caressing touch had quieted Chilcote.

"Dear old boy!" she said, soothingly, her hand moving slowly down his arm.

In a flash of understanding the consequences of this position came to him. Action was imperative, at whatever risk. With an abrupt gesture he rose.

The movement was awkward. He got to